


The Noble and the Fish Farmer

by aleria



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-27 13:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleria/pseuds/aleria
Summary: (I swear to god I will change the title when I think of a better one lmao)Reki Kyan is a young mage at the coven called Seaside, and he's made a reluctant deal with his headmaster to take care of the newest student.Langa Hasegawa never really got a hold of this whole 'magic' thing, but things are getting drastic and he will need to learn quickly to protect himself and his family.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Here I go, back on my bullshit.
> 
> Aging them all up by 2 years in case things get... intimate. I guess fair warning to anyone reading that I might eventually change the rating, but for now, buckle up for a fun fantasy advvventure!

“This place will go down as the WORST coven in the entire kingdom!”

It was a grey morning and the evening mist was just starting to make its way into the upper stratosphere, blanketing the sky. The seabirds were starting to call over the peaks of the rooves, some roosting on the stacked shale, dotting the grey with droppings. Normally it would be a quiet morning this far from the docks, where the coven buildings clustered together on a hill overlooking the village. The mages and their disciples wouldn’t start their lessons until the sun was high over the horizon.

Today a crowd was starting to grow around the windows that looked over the courtyard, and faces were appearing in the open archways.

After all, drama always drew a crowd.

“Just wait until I tell them,” said a young man with a straight back. He had a crisp riding coat and was throwing bags unceremoniously to a woman in simple serving garb. She looked resigned in the face of his antagonism. “Your-- your practises, your morals… all reflected in your sorry excuse for a student body!”

He was starting to stumble on his words, but somehow maintained an eloquence that betrayed his rank in society. After all, he was a nobleman through and through, from his shiny leather boots to his vocabulary. It was part of the problem, in fact.

Reki watched with as straight a face as he could muster, clenching the muscles in his face and pressing his lips together to keep from laughing out loud. He stood just behind the centre archway, in full view amongst the other gathering disciples. If he lost it now, the already highly irate nobleman would no doubt turn his fury on the redhead, sparking what would inevitably turn into another round of discipline for the latter party. Reki swallowed the mirth each time it bubbled up his throat. _Do not laugh._

“This is your fault, you know,” said a deadpan voice to his left. Miya was both shorter than Reki and a few years younger, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in attitude. He had the humour of a stone wall and the temper of a headmage. The look in his eyes, tired from being woken up by the commotion and glaring unrestrained at the nobleman in the middle of the courtyard, would be the same look he used on young disciples one day.

“ _My_ fault?” Reki asked incredulously, even as the voice at the back of his head told him Miya was right. “I wasn’t the one strutting around like he owned the place!”

Even now, as the young nobleman scrapped his horse harshly and snapped commands at his servant, he held his nose up as though everyone else was below him. It was so typical of his ilk. Reki suppressed the desire to heckle him.

There was always a handful of noblemen at a time at the coven, simply called Seaside. If it had been up to the founding high mage, there would be none. Seaside had been set up by a woman named Toshi who had been born to a poor family in the ramshackled neighbourhood simply called ‘the Brown’. It was near to the docks in the small village of Harbako, and it was here that she had set up her coven. Jaded by her experience in upper class covens, wherein she had been treated mercilessly by the nobles who governed it, she took her revenge by banning anyone from the upper class from sending their young people to her coven.

Covens were the only place a person who any affinity for magic could receive tutalague. Until Toshi had her way, all covens resided in the upper rings of the cities of Taskino and Yarna. Those from poor families were rarely allowed to send their children, and in the specific circumstances where they were permitted, the lines were quickly drawn in the sand for these helpless young people. The outcome was often bad education, and in many cases the poor were bullied into giving up. 

In the rarest of cases, someone like Toshi appeared. She was a force of nature by the time she graduated at the age of 20. With fire in her eyes and the elements at her command, she sought to change the world so that children like her would never have to experience the same prejudice.

While the class lines continued to glare in most cities, Toshi had managed to make a safe place for magic users. She hand picked the mages who would provide the education and held high standards for her students. Study was the most important underlying theme of the coven: for without knowledge, the poor were as pathetic and useless as the nobles made them out to be. Having power was not enough: the classes emphasized theory and memorization over actual magic use. Any magical child could produce sparks, but a mage required _education_.

It wasn’t until some years after Toshi’s disappearance that the nobles of the nearby city of Taskino started to entreat the coven to allow their young mages to attend. By then, Seaside had grown a reputation of producing some of the most talented magic users. However, the staff held onto Toshi’s beliefs.

It was only when the Queen herself insisted that they were forced to relent-- if only slightly. From that day on they would permit one noble mage to be enrolled each year. As a result, the position became something of a political tool in the upper rings, but for the mages of the farming villages and cheap towns along the sea, it was a given that Seaside was where your child would learn.

So far in the 14 years that Reki had attended Seaside, he had over 10 nobles in his year alone. In his experience, the younger ones lasted longer-- they were too young to have prejudice instilled in them, and it took a many years of going home in the harvest months for their high class society to ruin them. Very few of them managed to last all 14 years at Seaside, somehow making friends and deciding that poor people weren’t that bad after all.

Miyu was likely to become one that stayed until graduation. He had been sent here surprisingly late, at the age of 10, but in the following 5 years Reki had learned that his general disdain for others was not limited to the lower class. Miyu looked down on everyone equally. Reki believed that under it all, the younger boy was actually a caring person, but hell if Miyu would ever admit it.

The bottom line was that most nobles ended up leaving early: whether it was because they had family duties to attend to, were being pulled for personal training, or, like this fine fellow, were unable to handle mingling with the ‘rabble’. He had lasted less than a year.

“I hope they send a kid next time,” Miya mumbled. “Fewer bad habits to break.” Miya, at the tender age of 15, was already tutoring other students on their studies. Some of them were even older than him.

“I hope they send another asshole,” Reki said with a grin. “They’re no fun if you can’t give them hell.”

“You’re an asshole,” Miya said with a sideways glare.

“No, _he’s_ an asshole. Did you know he was using kids to do his washing?”

Miya made a non-committal noise. 

The noble was finally leaving, after a few more choice words to the headmage: a formidable man who’s patience was clearly running thin. Sakurayashiki was tall, with a straight back and an elegance that would make him fit in with any group of nobles. At the moment, he looked ready to burn an entire castle to the ground.

The moment the noble had rode off on his horse, with his servant trotting along behind him, the headmage rounded on all the onlookers. “Well?” he snapped with poison in his tone. “Don’t you have classes to attend?” 

He did not have to ask twice. The students fled the courtyard and windows, lest they be caught out in the open by the terrifying mage. 

Reki was not fast enough. As he turned to flee he felt himself unable to lift his feet. The flagstones of the courtyard had grown like mud around his boots and solidified. He nearly felt over trying to move.

“Mr. Kyan,” came the headmage’s voice like a whip. Reki felt the soul lead his body. The tall mage stepped in front of him, his long rose-coloured hair blowing in a wind that Reki was quite sure wasn’t really there. “Care to tell me what happened with Mr. Munaki, and why he was so angry when he left?”

Reki swallowed hard, and thought about his words carefully. “Because he… hates poor people?” he asked tentatively.

“They _all_ hate poor people, Mr. Kyan,” Sakurayashiki snapped, making Reki wince. “But our job is to not make that any worse! That man has contacts in the upper court, do you know what that means?”

“The… Queen’s court?”

“Of course it’s the Queen’s court!” he snarled. “The only person who can shut us down right now is the _Queen_. Do you understand?”

Reki nodded mutely. How had the headmage managed to figure out it was him who finally nudged the noble off the edge? ‘Mr. Munako’s pompous behaviour had been making enemies all year. All Reki did was humiliate him in front of the entire school. 

Sakurayashiki was holding the bridge of his nose, the other hand on his belted tunic. Despite the early morning, he had already meticulously donned the uniform to denote his position: deep purple tunic with a wide leather belt adorned with badges, each claiming a different type of magic. His shiny black boots reached his knees. All he was missing was his magnificent black cloak, embroidered with cherry blossoms. 

He was quiet for a moment, and Reki dared not even breathe. He knew that the headmage was trying to think of a punishment, and it was better not to make the situation any worse than it was. In all his 14 years, he had managed to cross paths with the headmaster at least twice per year. Usually the offenses were minor, but somehow he knew he really did it this time.

Suddenly the headmage looked up from his musings as something seemed to dawn on him. “Of course.” He looked at Reki with an icy stare. “You have one chance to make this right,” he began. “And if you mess this up, you will be losing more than your hide.”

Reki nodded vigorously. He was not about to lose his chance of gaining his official ‘mage’ title by somehow getting expelled less than a year from graduation. If he did, it was back to the fish farm, where he’d be gutting fish for the rest of his life.

“The next noble who comes from Taskino needs to stay until they graduate,” he said slowly, as if he wan’t to make things _quite clear_ for the student. “If they don’t, then neither will you.”

Reki swallowed again. “Deal.”


	2. Seaside

Langa stared at the little pile of tinder in the flat copper sconce in front of him and sighed heavily. He had collected the dry kindling from the fire in the mess hall three days ago when he had first arrived at Seaside. There was no hearth in his dorm room, of course. The little room was barely more than a hole in the wall, a narrow space with just enough room for a bed, side table. He had a window, which he supposed he should be grateful for, and privacy, which he was _infinitely_ grateful for.

Gael Munaki had made Seaside out to be far worse than Langa discovered it to be. They were of age, but had never met one another until a week ago when the guy had practically barged into a meeting between Langa, his mother, and the Queen herself. It had been the 3rd of such meetings, and Langa had to credit his mother for managing to grant an audience so many times. Lady Nanako Hasegawa was not usually one for political maneuvering, but even Langa understood the gravity of their situation.

During this particular meeting, they were making headway with the Queen. The objective was simple: allow the Hasegawa house to go back to their homestead in the mountains, and thus quit the court. The Queen, it turned out, wasn’t keen on the idea of letting Langa and his mother go and she had her reasons. But Langa liked to think their plight was more important than the whims of an aged Queen.

Gael Munaki turned out to be a proud and unlikeable distant cousin of the Queen. He and his father had entered without ceremony, needing to speak with the Queen _directly_. She humoured them, and thus opened up the door for a new solution to the Hasegawas’ problem.

It had always been Langa’s preference to stay and fight, despite his mother’s fears. The time for hiding in the mountains was over.

It hadn’t been much to convince the Queen to let Langa go to the coven in Gael’s place. Langa had some magical ability, but the extent of it was not a detail his mother had bothered to divulge to her majesty. She didn’t lie, per se, but the truth might have kept him from earning his right to go to Seaside.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have the potential, he kept telling himself. 

Langa spread out his hand in front of the little pile of dry tinder, and tried again. He knew the feeling of magic, how it was supposed to travel through your veins like blood. He knew that your extremities were the focus, where the power would exit your body, in most cases this would be your hands. He knew that all it took was concentrating on that feeling in your core. 

The tinder lay as unburnt as it had the last three days. Langa put down his hand and frowned at the sorry little pile. Fire was supposed to be one of the easiest magics to summon, especially with such willing tinder. So far Langa hadn’t been able to summon even the smallest spark.

He sighed again and stood up, brushing the dust off his knees and resigning himself to another day of studies. So far since he had arrived, most of the classes he had stumbled through had been theoretical, which was just as well, he wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of a class full of other 19 year-olds that he was incapable of even the easiest of conjuring. Today, however, would have one of their only practical classes, according to the ledger that headmage had given him on day one.

Langa’s experience so far at Seaside had been surprisingly low key. He had slipped in quietly in the middle of the day, without so much of an introduction. The mages who instructed the classes were vaguely aware of who he was, but seemed nonplussed by the arrival of a new noble. 

Langa expected the reception from the other disciples to be chilly at best. Gael had described the general population at Seaside to be a rabble of unsophisticated commoners, cruel and unkempt, ready to pray on any goodly noble who graced them with his presence.

In fact, Langa didn’t see much difference between these young people and those he tutored with back home. Sure, their accents were varied and there was a hint of mannerisms that indicated their lineage, but the uniform tunics they all wore removed any outward facing distinction. Sure, they would never fit in with the high circles with the nobles of Taskino, but Langa wasn’t sure he did either.

He _had_ noticed a few glances from the other disciples when they thought he wasn’t looking; whispers behind hands and a general murmur when he had first sat down at the narrow wooden desks in the learning hall. That much at least was to be expected-- from what he understood, most of these mages had been together for 14 years, and a new arrival must at least stir some curiosity.

Seaside itself was impressive, despite Gael’s descriptions. There was a cluster of towers and a main building not unlike a keep, with a large courtyard in the middle, flanked on all sides by tall archways with carvings of snakes and with stone gargoyles perched on each precipice. Most classes were somewhere in this building-- taking place in high ceilinged stone rooms with tall windows wrought with curling iron around clear, thick glass. Long iron chandeliers hung in each room and iron sconces on the walls. 

The testing room was perhaps the most expansive, a fraction the size of the Queen’s receiving hall, but still impressive in its own right. It was long and tall, with dark wooden vaults supporting an arched stone ceiling. The columns were spaced a few metres apart and carved with cabling, like a sweater. The room was normally empty but for the raised dais at the end, where the headmage and the other senior members of staff would observe and judge a disciple’s magic before granting graduation.

Other living areas, like the mess hall and dorm rooms, were in a squat, round tower with a garden outside and large doorway that was almost always open in the summer. The gardens were maintained by the disciples as part of their studies, as life magic was easiest to practice on plants. As a result there was an abundance of blooming flowers, vines and young trees, and with them came southern birds that Langa didn’t know the names of.

If things had been different, and Langa had come south much sooner and started at Seaside when he was young, he imagined growing up happily as a mage. He would have paced himself and grown into his abilities the same as everyone else. Perhaps then he wouldn’t be struggling to light a simple fire.

Unfortunately, the reality was that he now sat in Shadow’s class staring at the line up of reagents in front of him, feeling a lump of hopelessness rise in his throat and wishing he was back in the mountains. 

Hiromi Higa was a large mage with a frightening scowl that he used to his advantage often. He insisted the disciples called him ‘Shadow’, which Langa found ridiculous, but was too shy to challenge, as some of the other disciples did. 

Besides, Langa had other problems.

He had managed to sit near the back of the room, at the end of the long wooden trestle table that was shared with several others, each with their own lineup of reagents. The other disciples were already inspecting the objects eagerly, discussing their properties with their friends and speculating on what they would be for.

“Quiet down, low lives!” Shadow said in his normal morning roar. He only seemed to have one setting, and it was ‘overtly aggressive’. “And put down your reagents before they explode! Haha! Just kidding!” No one laughed, but he pushed on like a bull. “If you had half a brain you would already know what they are for. Who’s going to be the smart one to tell me?”

Someone near the front of the room put up their hand. “Invisibility,” they supplied.

“Right! Invisibility! This should be easy, but if you mess up there’s no going back because your reagents will be used up. Anyone know why that’s a problem?”

The same hand shot up. “Because a dragon's tooth is rare and expensive!”

“You got it!” He held up one of the reagents: the one that Langa had already guessed to be a tooth. “You only get one. If you mess up, too damn bad!”

The others were starting to shift, no doubt getting ready to attempt the piece of magic that Langa was sure was far out of his league. When Shadow gave them the go ahead, a few started working, arranging the reagents and attempting their magic. 

Langa waited, watching the others to see how easily they would succeed. Several of them were failing, from the look of strained concentration on their faces.

“Remember-- the most laden items on the bottom. This isn’t first year!” Shadow barked from the front of the class.

Langa looked down at his own items and then at the tome that they each had for identifying reagents. He carefully opened it and looked down the alphabetical list at the front of the book. Of course, all of their work was done on the southern common, a language he was fluent in but still sometimes struggled to read or write. It was another thing that was inevitably going to set him back. He read each reagent carefully before flipping through the pages to find their properties.

By the time he had rearranged the five items, the first disciple had popped out of existence.

“Akira!” Shadow called. “Perfect-o!” He made an ‘O’ shape with his fingers, as a way of praising the student. Two others followed suit, and soon it was clear everyone was going to succeed.

By the time the last student managed to turn invisible, the disciple named Akira had already reappeared, the magic having run its course. Those still invisible were entertaining their peers by picking up items and making them move on their own. Laughter and talking ran through the class. The instructing mage didn’t seem to mind, he was laughing just as loud as the disciples.

Langa was finding it hard to concentrate. The sounds of others talking was invading his mind, and the longer it took to summon that magic feeling in his chest, the more nervous he was getting.

 _I can do this_ , he said, after watching the last student pop from existence. He looked back down and closed his eyes. He knew the magic was there, latent and waiting, deep down where he kept a lot of feelings. He just needed to convince it somehow, just like he had before.

“Any time now,” came a voice to his left. One of the other disciples was watching him, resting on his hand and carrying a bored look on his face. He had a mess of red hair that he was barely taming with a headband and a complexion that suggested he spent a lot of time in the sun. 

Langa could feel the hot embarrassment on his own face. “I won’t be able to do it with you watching me,” he said quietly, as though he was only talking to the dragon tooth in front of him.

“What are you, an 8 year old? Do you get shy when people watch you do magic?”

Langa frowned at the other, then turned back, closed his eyes and put his palm over the neatly arranged reagents. He ignored the din of the class and thought about that spot deep inside him, the spot he _knew_ was there, but it continued to sit like a rock, inert and lifeless.

Langa opened his eyes and let out a sighing breath. 

“Are you serious?” asked the red head. “It’s _invisibility_ magic. The reagents are _right there_.”

Langa had no answer to that, and for whatever reason, this frustrated the other young mage.

“Can you even do magic?”

Langa shot him a look that was full of defiance. “I can,” he said quickly and quietly. “I have. I’ve done magic before.”

“Really,” said the redhead skeptically. Then he slid closer to Langa on the long bench they all shared at the back of the class. He pulled the bowl of shiny stones closer and dumped them on the table. Then he shoved the bowl over to Langa. “Make water.”

Langa stared at the bowl. Water may be easier than invisibility, but it was still harder than conjuring fire. He started to raise his hand, but one look at the other disciple seemed to communicate his hesitance.

The redhead collapsed onto the table, forehead on the shiny wood. “This can’t be happening!” he wailed, though it was still nothing compared to the noise of the class. “This has to be a joke!”

“What are you talking about?”

The redhead looked up suddenly. He stood up, grabbed Langa’s hand, and hoisted him off of the bench. “Higa!” he said loudly, making Shadow look over and suddenly realize someone had used his given name. Before he could get angry, the redhead plowed on. “The new guy has diarrhea. Gotta go.” Then he dragged Langa out of the room by his hand, through the arched doorway, down the dimly lit hallway to a corridor that was lit by the noonday sun streaming in through tall windows.

Then he stopped and faced Langa with determination. “You have one more chance,” he said seriously. “Fire.”

Langa looked helplessly at the other disciple, and almost apologized to him before he remembered that he didn’t even know who he was.

“Why on earth would they send a noble who can’t even do _magic_?” the redhead asked no one in particular, putting both hands through his hair and closing his eyes with the frustration. 

“I can do magic,” Langa repeated, and he felt a little nag of annoyance at the back of his head. “I’m going to learn. I have to.”

Some of the determination he felt must have come through in his tone because the other disciple’s face dropped into one of faint surprise. He put down his hands and set his jaw. “You only have 6 months until the harvest,” he said.

Langa nodded. “I won’t fail.”

“Do you promise?”

Langa blinked in surprise. He didn’t even know this person-- why was he making any promises to him? “Why do you care?”

“Honestly?” asked the redhead, and Langa realized he was supposed to reply so he nodded vigorously. “Because I’m supposed to help you graduate.”

This was not what Langa was expecting. So far none of the other disciples paid him much mind, so how was it that he had a tutor waiting for him? “I don’t understand.”

“Call it punishment, given to me by Lord Cherry himself.”

“Who?”

“The headmage, but don’t let him hear you calling him that.” The redhead looked more relaxed now, and Langa realized he was one of those people who was going to wear all of his emotions on his sleeve. The prospect of a tutor like him made Langa slightly uneasy, but when he broke into a cheerful grin, that uneasiness started to fade.

“I’m Reki,” he offered.

“Langa.”

“I know,” Reki, still grinning. “Meet me tonight by the mess doors after the sun is down. Let’s see if we can make you graduate.”


	3. Wrong Aspect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter sizes are all over the place
> 
> sorry friends

Reki tilted his head to one shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. Then, when things hadn’t improved, he tilted his head to the other shoulder, and considered things from that point of view instead.

No matter which way he went, and how he considered it, Langa Hasegawa, the noble from Taskino, was a terrible mage. He had been crouching over the pile of dry straw for almost 20 minutes, concentrating and holding out his hands as if something would happen. It wouldn’t, Reki realized, but he had to hand it to Langa for trying.

When Langa had arrived three days ago at Seaside, Reki was sure he was going to be like every other stuck-up noble that he had met. He definitely looked the part, refined and elegant, untouched by labour and with unusually silky hair. Half the class was in pieces over his looks alone, which he supposed were at a higher tier than any of the other nobles. There was something else, too, but Reki couldn’t put his finger on it.

However, he was unusually quiet for someone who was supposed to be sophisticated and well-mannered. At first they speculated that it was because he thought the others were beneath his notice, but slowly Reki was starting to form a new theory: he was just a really quiet guy.

The very last thing Reki had considered was that the new noble was going to be terrible at using magic. This immediately put him in the ‘pitiable’ category, and made it automatically too boring to make fun of him. Langa didn’t seem to have any boosted sense of pride or pomp. He was, dare Reki admit it, innocent.

Of course, this spelled trouble for Reki. The headmage had been dead serious when he declared that his disciple wouldn’t graduate if the new noble didn’t either, and at first Reki had simply taken this to mean ‘stay away from him, and let him do his thing’. He hadn’t expected it to mean ‘tutor him or he is going to fail’. 

It was an hour or so before midnight and the moon was hovering low above the horizon, towards the sea. Reki had led the noble to a quiet, secluded place near the mouth of the Dany Canyon: a gorge that ran along the Lesser Flora River and east inland. There was very little shrubbery here, the ground mostly covered with a patchwork of volcanic rock not unlike those which covered the islands just off the coast. The tree line on one side shielded this place from view of the coven, but broke in just the right place to see the ocean.

This was Reki's place. He would come here with friends to hang out away from the instructors or to practice magic. Sometimes he just came to be alone, with only the wind in the trees and the stars in the sky as company. 

Tonight he was not going to enjoy any of the wonders of nature, however. He focused on Langa, his face crestfallen and the bundle of dry straw unlit. An idea came to him.

“Wrong aspect,” he said resolutely.

“What?” asked Langa. He had a look of unreserved confusion on his face. What had he been learning about all this time?

“Aspect-- like, magic type. Right?” Reki got down for the boulder he had been sitting on, and stood over Langa, who was still crouched by his kindling.

“Oh.”

“Elemental magics can be summoned by anyone, right?” Reki put a hand in front of him. He produced a little flame there, with zero effort. Was he showing off? Maybe a little. “But a person tends to lean a little towards a certain aspect. Some people: more than one.”

Langa’s eyes got wider at the flame. “So… fire is not the right aspect for me?”

“Bingo.” Reki extinguished the flame. He concentrated slightly harder (though not _that_ hard!), and a swirl of water appeared over his palm. “There’s also water.” He let the water splash onto his hand and then concentrated again. A puff of smoke, blacker than the stones they stood on, manifested in his hand instead. “Shadow.” Again he let it dissipate, and concentrated again. This one was a little harder, as it was farther from his comfort zone. A moment passed and then: “Stone.” The shard of rock built up from his palm until he was able to close his hands around it. 

He handed the piece of rock to Langa, who took it in two hands like a grateful beggar. The noble held it up and looked at it with wonder. Reki wanted to laugh at his reaction. Was he a child? At the same time, Langa’s impressed attentions to his magic was bolstering Reki in a way that was making him want to show off more. It had been a long time since he had done magic for someone with less skills than him.

He stepped back with a half smirk and put his hands out. “Then there are the unaspected magics. The ones that don’t summon or anything. They change how reality works!” He tapped into that place in his chest where the magic lived and pulled _hard_. A gust of wind caught him and he was lifted up. As ever, his belly did a wonderful flop as he watched the world disappear from under him. 

“You’re flying!” Langa called, standing and staring up at him.

Reki did an arc and came down a little less than gracefully, but he managed to stay on his feel. “That’s not all-- there’s matter manipulation and invisibility.” He whirled around to face the noble, who was running over to meet him. “And transmog-- changing things into other things, and shifting yourself, and moving things without ever touching them!” He was getting excited now, and Langa’s eyes were practically twinkling.

“And all the time mages are coming up with new magic and new ways to change the world. I heard there’s a mage in the Grass Country who learned how to bend the world itself-- to move across the whole continent with only a step!”

“That’s incredible!” Langa chimed in. “I want to do that!”

Reki laughed, and clapped the noble on his shoulder. The other flinched a little, as if he wasn’t used to being touched. Well, too bad. “Even the headmage can’t do that, Lord Langa,” Reki said with a chuckle. 

“I’m not a lord,” Langa replied, with a hint of sullenness in his tone. 

“Sir Langa, then,” Reki said with a grin. Langa looked up and finally realized it was a joke. A small, tentative smile pulled on his lips. “Are you ready to learn magic now?”

Langa nodded vigorously and promptly sat down on the cool stone, legs crossed and hangs in his lap. “Teach me.”

Reki sat opposite and put out a hand. “We already know fire’s not your thing. At least not yet,” he started. “So let’s try water next.”

They spent the next two hours practicing, which was to say: Reki demonstrated and Langa tried to emulate, with no success. They focused on water first, and Reki took pains to describe that forceful feeling that water magic gave you-- the way it rose up in your throat as if you were drowning before finally manifesting in the material world. Langa listened raptly and even wrote some of his words down on a little leather-bound journal he had tucked in the front of his tunic. 

When they made no progress, they tried shadow, and then briefly stone. While Langa managed nothing, Reki wasn’t deterred-- not yet. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” he said, when they both managed to yawn simultaneously. “You aren’t going to get it in one go.”

“Thank you,” Langa said, even as Reki stood to stretch. 

“I told you-- I’m doing this so that I can graduate too!”

Langa didn’t seem to be deterred either. “I know.” He seemed to ruminate for a moment, still sitting and looking down at his hands. “But I feel like you’re going to be a good teacher.” When Reki didn’t reply right away, he looked up with clear blue eyes. “I feel like this is going to be fun.”


	4. Dogfight

At first, Langa was afraid he had been wrong all along. As he moved through classes and continued to struggle with the practicality of magic, he might have slowly lost hope until he finally gave up. 

However, he wasn’t wrong about Reki. The lowborn disciple was a ball of energy, bursting the enthusiasm and gregariousness. He was popular not just amongst the disciples in his year-- it seemed as though everyone knew who he was. He was outgoing and friendly, with an easy smile and a gleam in his eyes that spoke of the endless energy bound within him. It was hard not to have fun when Reki was around. He made people laugh, but he made sure you never felt left out of a conversation. He was surprisingly attentive, in fact, listening as well as speaking, engaging others and remembering details about anyone he talked to. 

Because Langa had been allowed to follow Reki like a stray dog, some of that energy and enthusiasm was working on the noble. Somehow it didn’t matter that he wasn’t making any progress. Reki continued to be open minded and determined, finding new techniques to try and reagents to experiment with.

Their private tutoring sessions continued most nights, sometimes near the canyon trying to summon aspects, and other times in the vast, dusty library pouring over tomes that might give a clue as to how Langa might unlock his potential.

Never once did Reki give up, and so Langa didn’t either. 

In his mountain homestead, Langa had few peers his own age. His family presided over a small village and the proximity and subsequent isolation from the rest of the North broke down the class barriers, but he still found himself without equal. The other children in the village had their work: goat herding or gathering, tailoring or hunting, but the son of nobility had other duties. He was taught math and science and how to make decisions that would shape the lives of those in the village. Even if he played with them in the snow, there would always be something that kept them separated.

Was this why he was so drawn to this red head disciple? For once in his life, Langa had found a peer who was his equal, who could share the same trials and triumphs as him. And Reki was so unlike the nobility in Taskino, who only ever saw one another as obstacles. 

Maybe, just maybe, Langa could come to call Reki a friend. It made him strangely warm in the face to imagine, at the age of 19, asking someone to be his friend, but Langa couldn’t help but fantasize about the situation where Reki shined that wide smile on him and said his name with affection. 

Two weeks after Langa had started at Seaside, Reki told him that they would go to the canyon once again. From the slightly devilish lilt to his grin, Langa felt a wave of unease.

“Like usual?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not this time-- this time we’re doing something _way_ more fun.” Reki’s invitation hadn’t been a request. At this point, he expected Langa to follow him and he was not wrong. Even if he was being elusive about what they would be doing that night, Langa’s curiosity was piqued. If Reki was excited about it, then so was he.

Somehow the days were getting even warmer than they had been when Langa had first come south. He had underestimated how warm it could be in this part of the country, and it was only getting worse as they eased into summer. The nights were heating up, too, which meant they no longer wore their cloaks against the cool winds that swept off the sea. 

Reki met Langa as usual behind the mess hall, near the archway made of old willow boughs that was nearly overgrown with tufts of shore grass. He was dressed differently than usual, in casual garb of a port commoner. His leather jerkin was plain and sleeveless, but fit well on his upper body. In contrast, his 3-quarter length pants were loose, as was custom for these warm parts, tied at his mid-calf with a piece of leather that looked ready to come undone at any moment. The only thing he still sported the same as usual was his headband.

For a moment Langa was caught off guard. He was so used to seeing Reki dressed in the disciple uniform that seeing him in casual clothing felt somehow intimate.

“I-- Should I have changed?” he asked, swallowing the awkwardness that was threatening to arise along with that same, warm feeling he got when he thought of Reki as a friend.

Reki scoffed, not in an unkind way. “Into your velvet doublets and shiny leather boots? Better not. Lots of people just wear their uniform anyway.”

“Lots of people?”

But Reki didn’t explain any further, and instead laughed and led Langa down that familiar path down the mouth of the canyon.

The first clue to what they could expect was a line of fire that erupted from the treeline and seared its way into the sky like a knife dragged over skin. It faded in a moment and Langa turned his eyes to Reki, who seemed to have a bounce in his step. As they drew towards the canyon mouth and the black rocks, they heard the sounds: voices and shouts and the occasional CRACKLE, BOOM that came with the use of magic.

And sure enough, that was what was happening. Just beyond their usual meeting place, somewhere deep in the canyon, magic was being made. Reki led Langa down a rough staircase that he had never noticed before that brought them to the canyon floor, along which the Lesser Flora ran. They followed the river upstream and as they went the canyon widened until they came to an expansive flat place that was filled to the brim with people.

Everywhere groups of mages were talking and laughing, and in some groups a flash of light would erupt, to the shouts and cheers of those nearby. A huge bonfire was lit to the side of the area, and many people sat or danced nearby while makeshift music drifted clumsily into the air. Most notable, however, was a wide, low plateau that rose above the onlookers, on which something was happening to make brilliant flares of magic burst into the air. Two mages seemed to be there, moving and whirling, magic trading between them in what could only be a battle, while the crowd gathered nearby to shout and whistle.

“Impressed?” Reki asked, and Langa turned his head over to him so quickly that he felt a sharp pain in his neck. In his moment of awe, he hadn’t realized Reki had been watching him.

“What is it?”

“The Dogfights,” Reki said. “We gather at the start of the mew bass season, before everyone gets shipped out for the summer.”

“Mew bass?”

“Fish. I’ll show you sometime. Anyway-- _when_ doesn’t matter, let’s talk about _what_.” He started forward, taking confident strides towards what could only be described as a mass of jubilant chaos. “Dogfights are the only time we get to really flex our powers,” Reki went on. “The fights aren’t really to hurt anyone. Of course, accidents happen but I don’t think anyone’s died.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “I don’t _think_ anyone has died. The instructors don't know about it. Or at least, if they do, they pretend not to.”

Langa followed, at a loss for words.

“The rules are pretty simple-- stay on the platform. If you can knocked off or knocked out, you lose. Also, you can’t say ‘no’ to a challenge, so be careful who you look at the wrong way.” He grinned, and Langa suddenly was very aware that they were now in the thick of it, close enough to hear snippets of other conversations.

The crowd was made up of mostly young mages, many who probably came from the coven and even a few he recognized. There were more, too, and he wondered how many were graduates of this or some over coven.

“Ugh, Reki,” came a younger voice. Langa half recognized the younger teen, black hair and wide eyes all. Miya Chennen spent a lot of time with the older years, and though Langa hadn’t exchanged words with him, he knew him to be one of those only nobles here. “Why did you bring _this guy_.”

“Ah, he’s alright,” Reki said, and he slapped a hand over Langa’s shoulders without hesitation. “He’s my pupil!”

“I feel sorry for him, then,” Miya said dryly. Even if he was a noble, he also dressed down in simple, clean garb. “I’m Miya. Come find me when you want a _real_ tutor.”

“I like learning from Reki,” Langa said without hesitation. There was no point in lying about it, but apparently it was enough to make Reki grin with pride.

“So you’re as thick as he is,” Miya said with some disgust on his face. Whether or not he was joking was not clear, but regardless, he stuck to them after that as though he and Reki were good friends. Langa wondered if the teen’s attitude was something of a front, and, when he considered the ruthless society of the nobility, it wouldn’t be surprising. No doubt this young noble found it difficult to express himself after a childhood of repressed emotions. Langa decided he liked Miya after that.

Unfortunately, Miya wasn’t the only person who found something to say about Langa’s appearance at the Dogfights. As they headed closer to the plateau, Reki was hailed by a group of 17-year-olds who Langa didn’t know. Two were obviously twins with identical black hair and the third was a tall broad-shouldered boy with a face full of freckles and short cut hair.

“Hey Reki!” the tall one called, and Reki turned with the faintest look of dislike on his face. It was fleeting, as he replaced it quickly with a grin.

“Tomoka.”

The tall one, Tomoka, suddenly seemed to notice Langa and strode over to their group. He was about a half a head taller than Langa, even if he was younger, and he stopped only a few metres away as if to make this size difference as evident as possible. “What’s with the noble?”

“He’s with me,” said Reki, and Langa could sense a hint of defiance in his tone.

Sure enough, the taller teen was holding an aggressive posture, as if looking for a fight. “This isn’t a place for you, Prince,” he taunted. “Go back to your castle.”

“Don’t call me that,” Langa said in a low tone, almost instinctively. He felt a twitch of stubbornness in his chest which he knew would spell trouble.

“Sorry, should it be _your majesty_?” the teen said with an overabundance of sarcasm. He even did a little bow that made the twins that he was with laugh uproariously.

Langa felt himself stepping forward, but Reki was suddenly putting up an arm. “He’s trying to bait you,” he said quietly. “He wants to fight. Let me--”

“Oh, you gonna protect him now, Reki?” the teen said, cutting him off and stepping forward in an aggressive way that was no doubt meant to make Langa afraid.

Langa was never one to cower. He stood his ground and that stubborn twitch turned into a full blown suit of armor. He set his jaw and stared in defiance into the pale green eyes of the bigger teen. 

“Look at this tough guy,” Tomoka went on. “How tough are ya, Prince?”

Langa was vaguely aware of a crowd starting to form around them. Reki was tugging at his elbow but Langa shook him off. A hot stubborn anger was burning at the back of his head. “Try me.”

“I challenge you,” Tomoka said loudly, much to the delight of everyone watching.

“I accept,” Langa said without skipping a beat.

The crowd was shouting and hollering about a fight, some coming forward to pat Tomoka on his shoulder and others jostling Langa on their way past. They were already parting a way for the plateau, where the last fight had ended and apparently theirs was about to begin.

“Langa!” Reki said sharply, and pulled Langa to face him squarely, holding his shoulders in his fists. “You idiot! You can’t do this-- you’re going to get hurt.”

“You said I couldn’t turn down a fight,” Langa said, but he knew that even if those weren’t the rules he would have agreed anyway. Something in him was bursting to come out, and that stubborn feeling was not fading, even as he watched Tomoka climb onto the plateau.

“You _idiot_ ,” Reki repeated. “I’m the one who’s going to have to get your sorry ass back to the coven, you know!”

Langa let his eyes fall back on Reki’s face, which seemed torn between concern and anger. He let some of his own hot stubborn feelings fall, and he softened his gaze. “Thank you,” he said quietly, so only the two of them could hear. 

Then he pulled out of Reki’s grip and marched towards the plateau.


	5. The Right Aspect

When Langa was 5 years old his homestead had fostered a noble from Yarna by the name of Tova. Tova had been 7, built like a mountain and easily upset. While Langa didn’t remember doing anything specific to tick her off, he had the distinct memory of Tova lurching at him with the intent to get into a good old fight. It had been the first time Langa got into a scuffle, and taught him his first lesson about how to handle being the smaller dog in a fight.

In the years after when he trained with the sword and spear, he was usually paired with one of the members of the village guard, who were all older and bigger than him. By the time he had gone through his own growth spurt, he had managed to get a fair amount of training that involved avoiding the big, strong swings of someone who relied mostly on muscle.

He reflected on his training a little as he avoided a heavy, flame-engulfed fist, feeling the heat sear past his face. Tomoka, with his extra height and muscle mass, measured up against Langa much like Tova had when he was 5.

Of course, Tova hadn’t been using magic.

Tomoka specialized in fire magic, just as Reki did. He used it to add a powerful burst of energy to his swings, instead of shooting it off from a distance as others would. It was smart, using his massive strength in addition to the aspect. It meant that as soon as he landed a punch, Langa was probably going to fly several metres.

Langa was not about to let him land a blow. He dodged and weaved, staying a breath away from the fire and moving around the plateau in a kind of dance. He could see the look in Tomoka’s eyes; he was furious with Langa’s technique. _Good_ \-- it might be the only way Langa was going to avoid injury. If he could tire the bigger teen out, maybe Langa could trip him or knock him off the edge.

But it was getting too close. Every blow was coming closer. Langa wasn’t sure if he was slowing down, or if Tomoka was getting faster. They were both sweating, their faces glistening in the fire light as it flashed back and forth in the fray. 

He had to back off before one of those blows got too close. Langa took a chance and dove into a roll, dodging a right hook and narrowly missing Tomoka’s leg. Before the bigger teen could turn around Langa had widened the gap between them and was on the far side of the plateau.

He was dimly aware of the crowd booing, no doubt hoping for less dodging and more magic. He could not spare them a moment’s consideration because Tomoka was back on him, or at least Langa thought he was-- fire was suddenly coming at him and he realized too late that it was not a fist. He ducked just in time as a ball of fire exploded above him, the sparks trying to catch on the sleeve of his uniform. Then Tomoka himself was there again and Langa just barely rolled out of the way.

So he _could_ attack from a distance. The panic started to take hold in Langa’s brain as he wheeled around to face Tomoka again. Another fireball was coming and he threw himself onto his stomach just in time.

The crowd was roaring with approval. Langa scrambled away, almost tripping on his own feet. This was going to come to a close very soon. As he ran the crowd of young disciples rippled in front of him, a blur of faces. But then--

“Langa!” It was Reki. He stood out like a beacon against the others. He had managed to pull himself to the front of the crowd, just at the edge of the plateau. “Don’t give up!”

Langa felt a warmth blossom in his chest, like a jar of honey overflowing and filling him up with a golden stickiness that found every crevice. Only it kept flowing-- into his arms and legs and burning all the way.

He turned back to Tomoka. The teen was charging, but he was himself a ball of fire. The heat radiated from him, but Langa could feel his own heat rising. It flowed down his fingers, burning so hot until it stung. Only it wasn’t burning at all, it was _freezing_.

Instinctively he swung, as though he had a short sword in hand, and in that graceful arc he produced a shining, magnificent wave of glass. No, _ice_. Tomoka stopped just short, but he was too late and his right arm had been caught in the freeze.

Langa rolled away just as Tomoka’s fire engulfed the ice, making violent clouds of steam erupt around him. Langa couldn’t wait-- he lunged at the other disciple, grabbing Tomoka's forearm and unleashing the magic that ran through him. Ice travelled up Tomoka’s arm, stopping short of his neck and preventing any movement. 

But Langa wasn’t done. Even as Tomoka struggled to melt the ice, issuing steam all over the plateau, Langa struck downward with two open hands. Ice grew over the rocky ground, travelling under the other disciple and beyond in one, long slippery line. Then Langa charged straight at the unexpecting teen and caught him hard in the chest with his shoulder. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through Langa’s body but he had still caught Tomoka off balance, and he fell. The momentum skidded him along the ice and he shot like a sled straight off the side of the plateau. The crowd shouted and scrambled to get out of the way just as his body landed on the packed earth with a thud.

There was a moment of quiet when all that could be heard was a few confused murmurs and the sound of Tomoka groaning. Then the wave of cheering crashed over Langa and he staggered. In the din he stumbled to the side of the plateau where Tomoka was and stood over the edge, watching a few people help the teen up. He was already being fed potions to heal the worst of his wounds, but he was looking up at Langa with wide eyes all the while. 

“Langa!”

Reki was practically pulling at Langa’s leg, trying to get him down from the plateau. Miya and others Langa recognized from the coven gathered too, with impressed looks on their faces. Langa half fell, his body suddenly heavy and sore. But Reki was there to support him with two hands, almost lifting him off his feet by the death grip on his arms.

“You did it!” he said with jubilation, his honey eye sparkling with excitement. “You did _magic_ , Langa!” 

Langa couldn’t help but break into a smile that matched Reki’s. “I did!”

“Can you feel it?” Reki pointed at Langa’s chest, right where the magic was glowing. Langa nodded emphatically. Reki flattened a hand there, as if he was feeling it too. “Don’t forget this. Don’t forget this feeling, you got it?”

“I won’t!”

“This is where it lives! This is where it comes from!”

“I know-- I got it!” Langa broke into a laugh, the rush of excitement making his nerves sing all over. He felt light headed and exhausted but deeply satisfied. Something had woken up inside him and he wanted to fan those flames. He resisted the urge to pull Reki into a tight embrace. Instead he took a deep breath and looked up into the sky, where the stars were twinkling, and felt, for the first time in months, a glimmer of hope.

“Ice, huh?” Reki said later, when they sat off a little ways from the Dogfights, enjoying the cool night air and sharing a skin of water.

Langa nodded, and looked at Reki a little guiltily. “I should have said something before, but you said ice was the hardest aspect, so…”

Reki actually laughed and leaned back on his hands. “So you’re a show off,” he said, grinning to Langa. “That’s OK!”

Langa felt a little colour rise on the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to show off.”

“No, you just wanted to hide your aspect from me as long as possible for the most effect. I got it!”

Langa could tell Reki was teasing him, but he couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “I didn’t think you’d believe me! Especially since I can’t exactly do it on command.”

“Can you?” Reki challenged. He held out the skin of water to Langa, but just as Langa tried to take it it was snatched away and upended. The water sloshed out, attempting to splash over Langa’s outstretched hand, but--

“That looks like ice to me,” said Reki with an ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk on his face. 

Langa had frozen all the water from the first curl over his palm all the way up to the water skin that now stood on its own, frozen in place. It teetered, and Langa made a grab for it and missed. The ice crashed on the rock in front of them, sending glittering shards over the ground. Reki laughed, and Langa felt the tug of a smile on his lips.

“Tomorrow,” said Reki with glee. “We’re going to do _real_ magic.”


End file.
